Chapter 1 #2
On the off chance that Casey was going to show up, I told my bartender on duty tonight to come in a little later. I didn’t have to ask twice since it meant more time with their kid, but for me, all it meant was staring at the clock and wondering if he would walk in.
There was something about Casey I couldn’t put my finger on.
Something that made me want to pull him close and keep him there.
Maybe it was his smile that never seemed to fade or the fact that he was out and proud with that ridiculous tattoo on his thigh.
He wasn’t wrong—it was cute as shit, and there wasn’t anything wrong with liking cute shit.
In fact, I encouraged it, or I would if I had a boy of my own.
I had been to the local club, Wilde Dandies, a few times, but I hadn’t found a connection.
Plenty of nice boys were there, but none of them pulled me in the way Casey did.
I had already decided my next relationship—not that Casey and I had one—was going to be Daddy/little.
I think that was part of the reason my previous ones had failed.
I knew I wanted to be a Daddy, but I hadn’t found the boy I wanted to be a Daddy to.
Yet. Meanwhile, I could damn sure admire the scenery that was Casey.
It was part of the reason for my marriage failing too.
Although that was more about my wife not being sure I could be faithful on the road.
One more glance at the clock said it was three fifty-nine, and there was still no Casey in sight.
Shit. I really hoped he would show. I shoved myself off the stool where I had been doing the books and headed to the back.
There was no point in sitting around if he wasn’t coming.
When the bell clanked above the door, signaling someone had entered the bar, all that pep talk about not being so eager went out the window. I raced around to the front.
Standing at the bar was Casey, freshly scrubbed and showered. His hair was still shiny and inky from the water, his skin still dewy. Maybe that was the Pacific Northwest rain look, but it worked for him. At this point, I thought anything would look good on him—or off him.
Travis, get your shit together. You’re supposed to be the boss.
“Hey, man, did I make it on time?” Casey asked as he slid his phone into his pocket.
“Pretty close,” I said with a glance at the clock. “About ten after, I guess.”
“Shit, I’m really sorry. There was an accident getting off I-5, and I got rerouted. I should’ve given myself more time.”
I hated the self-recrimination in his voice. Yeah, he was fifteen minutes late for an interview, but it wasn’t his fault they had to reroute traffic. If it happened again, fine, I’d handle it. But this time, I wasn’t going to knock him.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”
“But it is my fault. I didn’t give myself extra time.”
I appreciated his willingness to take responsibility, but I hated how angry he sounded at himself.
“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. I laid my hand on his shoulder in a decidedly boss sort of way. “That’s enough of that. You’re here now. It wasn’t your fault. Now you know to give yourself an extra five minutes.”
Casey nodded but stayed quiet. I gestured toward a table and invited him to sit.
“Want a drink before we get started?”
“No, I’m good. I’d rather just do the interview.”
“Well, it’s really not much of an interview. It’s just me asking if you want the job, you saying yes, and then me showing you around the bar.”
“So no questions about why I want the job, how long I’ll stay, or what my qualifications are?” Casey’s lopsided grin never left his face, and I couldn’t stop a matching one from spreading across mine.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What are your qualifications for the job? How long are you planning to stick around? Why do you want this job?”
“I’ve been in town for a few months, and I like it, so I’ll probably be here a while. I want the job because I need something to occupy my evenings that doesn’t involve hanging out at clubs. And I don’t remember the other question.”
“Yeah, I don’t either.” We both sat and looked at each other.
The part of the job I wasn’t prepared for was how to be a boss to someone I was instantly attracted to.
The last thing I needed or wanted was to come off as a creep who preyed on my employees.
The reputation of this place had been lousy when I bought it, and we’d worked hard to bring back the friendly neighborhood vibe, not the kind of place where you had to watch your drink or your back.
“Just as well because I don’t either. But one of my questions should be to confirm you know what a barback does.”
“Keep the bar stocked, clean up, help the bartenders when they need it, and step in if the bouncers need it.”
“You okay with helping bus tables if needed?”
“Cleaning is cleaning.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me where the dirty dishes are.”
That was all I needed to hear. The guy who’d been here after I took over lasted less than one night before declaring that he wasn’t a busboy. Fuck that shit—pitch in when help is needed or get out. It was how my dad ran his bar, and it’s how I was going to run mine.
“Good answer.” The way he straightened under praise made something warm and protective unfurl in my chest. “Come on. I’ll show you around the bar.”
“Can you go back to the kitchen and grab me that last tray of glasses?” I asked Casey as we finished resetting the bar.
Everyone had gone home for the evening, and it was just the two of us left.
The garden lights outside were off, as were the ones near the doors, so nobody tried to wander in.
The bar lights still cast a soft glow across the wooden counters.
“Sure thing.” Casey disappeared into the back and returned a few moments later, arms straining under the weight of a full tray of glasses. Without a word, he set them neatly in place and slid the tray back into its spot beneath the bar.
I had never had an employee throw themselves so completely into a new job.
He didn’t ask what needed to be done. He just looked around and did it.
Growing up, my dad always complained that he spent half his day telling people what to do, and he never figured out the secret to teaching them to do it automatically.
Casey seemed to have that knack built in.
He knew exactly what to do and where to go.
He kept the cases stocked, the glasses clear, and even found time to sneak food to the other workers in a quiet moment so they weren’t starving by the end of the shift.
He threw himself in like he was afraid slowing down would make him lose his place, and I knew that feeling much too well. Tonight, the bartender told me that if I didn’t keep Casey on, they were going to quit.
“You’ve got a lot of hockey gear stuff around,” Casey said as he finished wiping off the tables.
I’d told him it wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t listen and did it anyway.
It almost felt like he was avoiding going home, but that was ridiculous.
He had to be exhausted after jumping feet first into his first shift.
He said it casually, but there was a flicker in his expression like he already knew more about me than I expected.
“Yeah, I was into it back in the day.”
Casey snorted. “Is that what you’re gonna call it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know you from hockey, but I did figure out that you’re a hockey player.”
“Nah, I was a hockey player. Now I’m just a retired guy with the dream of a bar. Isn’t that what everyone dreams about?”
“I guess some people do. Is this what you always wanted to do when you left hockey?”
I almost told him the truth, that leaving hockey left a hole I never figured out how to fill, but the words stuck.
His words sank in and made me pause. There had always been two steady things in my life—my dad’s bar and hockey. When I got too old for hockey, there wasn’t another option that crossed my mind.
“Yeah, I guess so. I thought I’d be at my dad’s bar, not this one. But I always knew I’d end up in one somewhere. I don’t know how to do anything but skate and sling beer.”
“Don’t plenty of players go into coaching?”
“Yeah, but I never really felt the pull to do it full-time. I’m an assistant coach for our rec league, and I like that well enough.
I get to strap on the skates and lay the puck down without having to worry about all the other stuff that comes with being a professional coach.
The guys on the team—well, the guys and the girls, it’s coed—we just do it for fun. ”
Casey gave a small nod, like he understood, but he didn’t ask any more questions. He went back to work, efficient and quick.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you doing what you want with your life?”
Casey paused his cleaning for a split second before answering. “I like my life. Waiting tables and barbacking probably aren’t anyone’s lifetime goals.” He held up his hands when I started to protest. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m not trying to insult you. Janie said she was quitting if you’re not working the next time she is.”
Casey beamed when he heard the compliment. His cheeks, with those peekaboo dimples, were tinged pink.
“I’m just curious. What do you like about it?”
“I’ve met some really cool people and done some interesting stuff, and then I’ve moved on to the next.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“I was a ski bum, which you know about. Mostly, I worked the lifts, but if they were seriously shorthanded, then I’d help out in the restaurant.
I did some barbacking there too.” I nodded, and he continued, “And I worked at a dude ranch, which was cool because I learned how to ride horses and make a proper bowl of chili. At the farm, I learned how to grow stuff in the greenhouse, which was nice on my grocery bill since they let us set up a spot for personal use in one of the houses. At a pizza place, one of the guys taught me how to toss dough like they do in the movies.”
“That’s pretty cool,” I said with a smile. “If you liked them, why move on?”
“Meh, I get bored and want to try something else. The nice part about moving around is you end up with friends everywhere, so someone calls you up, says, ‘Hey, I’ve got a thing for you,’ and if it sounds cool, then you go.
” Casey sounded a little wistful as he described it.
It was difficult to tell from what exactly—the moving around or something else.
“I can’t imagine doing so much stuff, but you’re right, it sounds cool. But I’ve kept you long enough. Did you park around back or on the street? We’re done here. I’ll lock up, and we can call it a night.”
“Funny story. It was my car that caused the detour. It broke down and blocked traffic. It’s not that far, so I can walk.” Casey had already grabbed his jacket from the bar top and was shrugging it on before I could get a word in edgewise.
“Nope, it’s too damn late for you to be out walking. I’ll drop you off.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Yeah, I do.” This was nonnegotiable. The neighborhood wasn’t terrible, but nothing good could come from walking around at two in the morning. “Your next shift is on Thursday. Will you need a ride?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need one.”